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yukinoomoni Hey. It's been a while. I'm an aunt, now, heh. My sister Heather had a baby girl, named Ellie.
I missed her birth, because I was in the ER. It was there that they found something interesting, later confirmed by my family doctor: I've lost 20kg in 4-5 months.
Why? Because I can't eat. I have no appetite.
Why? Because I am in agony, every day, and it's getting worse.
Every single pain clinic has dropped me. I have nothing left. Save "do yoga and eat better". I see the joy and happiness die within the eyes of my husband every time he sees me in pain. I can't walk with just a cane, anymore. I'm treated like literal garbage in the hospital. Nobody believes me, anymore. I cannot be a good aunt. I cannot be a good wife.
So now, they're testing me for HIV and cancer. I checked online, and... save things like prostate cancer, I checked out at about 9/10 for positive general symptoms of cancer. They took my fluids today, and now I have to just sit around and listen to what I know is esophageal cancer eat me alive.
I quit smoking almost a month ago, after almost two years. I started smoking to help alleviate the pain, but by the beginning of this month, it stopped being helpful. I quit, and two weeks later, I'm back in the ER. I've been fainting, throwing up, memory loss, white outs... I also feel sharp knives of pain within my throat, and cough up blood, and I'm so tired all the time. Yet I can't sleep, because it hurts, and I get nightmares. I get winded walking from couch to desk - barely two metres apart.
This is all my fault, and I know that. I did this to myself. And now, I'm probably on my way out.
It sucks, because I'll be dead with so much left undone: novels, comics, fanfics, fanarts, meeting the people I love around the world... I'll never get to see Ellie grow up...
I didn't try hard enough. The pain kept getting worse, so a 7 this year was a 9 last year, and it gets confusing. I get abandoned in ER rooms, until my IV dries out, and mere saline makes me scream, while I'm being pulled off a bed by a nurse - literally grabbed by the ankles and pulled on - while throwing up and screaming with pain. I see Terry, his eyes die, go darker, fill with tears, frustration... emotions I can't read...
I know I'm going to lose him, too. He's already so fed up with what we've had to deal with for 8 1/2 years, now. Every time we go to the ER, he looks... his face... and the way he cries, because he blames himself for my being in pain, and... I just... I can't...
People I love, around the world, get ignored by me, because I can't concentrate. I can't be a friend, because all I can think of is the fact that my body is decomposing on the inside. I'll never get to meet them, so why would I waste their time, if I'm just gonna go die on them? I avoid them, because I can't face it. I can't tell them. I can't say the words, and not just because I haven't gotten the positive result, yet.
I'm "one more report of bad news" away from having a nervous breakdown. I'm starting to doubt myself, my pains, my illness, my memories. I'm starting to question how reliable I am as a narrator of my own life. I cry every day, in the shower, abuse my body like it's an onion, peeling the skin away to try and shed myself of this skin of sickness. I can't, and people keep calling me a liar, or histrionic, or stupid, or a weakling. I know I'm weak, and a coward! I don't need anyone to tell me this fucking fact. I'm going to shatter, implode, and it will kill me.
And I'll die with so much left undone, but does that actually matter? I can count on one hand the amount of people who give a shit about my original works, and Terry is not on that list. Not even people who call me their best friend... *sigh* People only like my fanworks, my theft of a smarter person's work, destroying it into what I want it to be, because I'm a selfish, disgusting person. Nobody wants what's from my heart. I haven't written anything for any of my original series in over a decade. Why bother? Nobody fucking cares. I've been drawing an original comic series, for free, and nobody cares. I put my heart and spoons into each panel, and only four people even see it, and one of them is me!
So I guess what I'm saying is... I probably have cancer. I'm going to die later than I thought, but sooner than I wished. And I'm aware that such a thing means absolutely nothing. Nobody cares. One more dead person, one more online idiot who pretends she is loved when she is unlovable. If it's true, and I do have it... I'm sorry. I'm going to let it win.
I've proven that I don't deserve this life. Someone better deserves it. Someone who has stories people actually give a fuck about. Someone who was never trapped in a basement, who ate better, who kept her gallbladder, who took care of her baby dog better, who knew how to love and accept love and be able to recognise that it's possible to be loved back...
Someone the exact opposite of me...
Heh. Who cares. I abandoned all of the people here, too. I don't deserve any of it, anyway.
My stories are shit, and I never deserved the goodness I was given.
I missed her birth, because I was in the ER. It was there that they found something interesting, later confirmed by my family doctor: I've lost 20kg in 4-5 months.
Why? Because I can't eat. I have no appetite.
Why? Because I am in agony, every day, and it's getting worse.
Every single pain clinic has dropped me. I have nothing left. Save "do yoga and eat better". I see the joy and happiness die within the eyes of my husband every time he sees me in pain. I can't walk with just a cane, anymore. I'm treated like literal garbage in the hospital. Nobody believes me, anymore. I cannot be a good aunt. I cannot be a good wife.
So now, they're testing me for HIV and cancer. I checked online, and... save things like prostate cancer, I checked out at about 9/10 for positive general symptoms of cancer. They took my fluids today, and now I have to just sit around and listen to what I know is esophageal cancer eat me alive.
I quit smoking almost a month ago, after almost two years. I started smoking to help alleviate the pain, but by the beginning of this month, it stopped being helpful. I quit, and two weeks later, I'm back in the ER. I've been fainting, throwing up, memory loss, white outs... I also feel sharp knives of pain within my throat, and cough up blood, and I'm so tired all the time. Yet I can't sleep, because it hurts, and I get nightmares. I get winded walking from couch to desk - barely two metres apart.
This is all my fault, and I know that. I did this to myself. And now, I'm probably on my way out.
It sucks, because I'll be dead with so much left undone: novels, comics, fanfics, fanarts, meeting the people I love around the world... I'll never get to see Ellie grow up...
I didn't try hard enough. The pain kept getting worse, so a 7 this year was a 9 last year, and it gets confusing. I get abandoned in ER rooms, until my IV dries out, and mere saline makes me scream, while I'm being pulled off a bed by a nurse - literally grabbed by the ankles and pulled on - while throwing up and screaming with pain. I see Terry, his eyes die, go darker, fill with tears, frustration... emotions I can't read...
I know I'm going to lose him, too. He's already so fed up with what we've had to deal with for 8 1/2 years, now. Every time we go to the ER, he looks... his face... and the way he cries, because he blames himself for my being in pain, and... I just... I can't...
People I love, around the world, get ignored by me, because I can't concentrate. I can't be a friend, because all I can think of is the fact that my body is decomposing on the inside. I'll never get to meet them, so why would I waste their time, if I'm just gonna go die on them? I avoid them, because I can't face it. I can't tell them. I can't say the words, and not just because I haven't gotten the positive result, yet.
I'm "one more report of bad news" away from having a nervous breakdown. I'm starting to doubt myself, my pains, my illness, my memories. I'm starting to question how reliable I am as a narrator of my own life. I cry every day, in the shower, abuse my body like it's an onion, peeling the skin away to try and shed myself of this skin of sickness. I can't, and people keep calling me a liar, or histrionic, or stupid, or a weakling. I know I'm weak, and a coward! I don't need anyone to tell me this fucking fact. I'm going to shatter, implode, and it will kill me.
And I'll die with so much left undone, but does that actually matter? I can count on one hand the amount of people who give a shit about my original works, and Terry is not on that list. Not even people who call me their best friend... *sigh* People only like my fanworks, my theft of a smarter person's work, destroying it into what I want it to be, because I'm a selfish, disgusting person. Nobody wants what's from my heart. I haven't written anything for any of my original series in over a decade. Why bother? Nobody fucking cares. I've been drawing an original comic series, for free, and nobody cares. I put my heart and spoons into each panel, and only four people even see it, and one of them is me!
So I guess what I'm saying is... I probably have cancer. I'm going to die later than I thought, but sooner than I wished. And I'm aware that such a thing means absolutely nothing. Nobody cares. One more dead person, one more online idiot who pretends she is loved when she is unlovable. If it's true, and I do have it... I'm sorry. I'm going to let it win.
I've proven that I don't deserve this life. Someone better deserves it. Someone who has stories people actually give a fuck about. Someone who was never trapped in a basement, who ate better, who kept her gallbladder, who took care of her baby dog better, who knew how to love and accept love and be able to recognise that it's possible to be loved back...
Someone the exact opposite of me...
Heh. Who cares. I abandoned all of the people here, too. I don't deserve any of it, anyway.
My stories are shit, and I never deserved the goodness I was given.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-03-31 04:31 am (UTC)*HUGS*
(no subject)
Date: 2019-03-31 03:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-03-31 07:13 am (UTC)I know there's little I can say that is meaningful in the face of this awful reality you're facing, but I would like you to know that I'm so sorry this happened to you. It wasn't anything you did, the world is unfair and you were unlucky. Even if the pain went away tomorrow you won't get back the time, the relationships, and the sanity you've lost, and it's such a damned waste and a damned shame. I'll still hold out hope because you can't anymore. I hope there is a path to whatever healing you can find in this deeply flawed world.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-03-31 03:01 pm (UTC)I know my focus is broken, and it does shame me (though of course I know this is not your intention; this is how my brain works). The fact is, I never thought this would go this far. I never thought I would be dropped like this, after 8 years of doing everything they say, including take harmful drugs and undergo invasive tests, stripping away any dignity or modesty that I had left. Some of it is my fault: the smoking, for example, and the carelessness of my use of opiates, and why I’m banned from them, save in hospitals – if they remember to.
I don't want to be broken. I want to be like I was even five years ago, but I can't. I'm trying so hard, and I’m honoured you've seen it, too. I don't hear that, a lot, either.
Tl;dr: thank you. Your kind words, your patience... thank you. I'll never forget it, or you, if and when I give up. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to me over the years. It means the world to me.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-06-04 12:03 pm (UTC)